FinalHavenLarp.com

A young Valkin'Vi stands over a table draped in black velvet. She speaks not a word as she gently works the fabric. She pulls back a section of cloth to reveal the face of another Valkin'Vi woman, lifeless and beautiful. She strokes the woman's hair, bows down to kiss her head and gently whispers in her ear.

"Your prophecy has been fulfilled. We will guide you safetly back to Mistrialla."

She gently replaces the fabric to conceal the woman's face with the velvet.

Abaddon and Ingram carry out to the fire pit, the bed of swords that the woman died upon. Crusts of blood and rust are dark in the sunlight.

The painted woman follows slowly behind. Quietly she speaks:

"Master Abaddon, have we found the man that sought her? If we are capable of locating her family, they may wish to be present to recite her birth prophecy."

Tellenium, as if on cue, walks up and speaks somberly, "I know not where her family would be found. She was long ago stripped of her title of oracle, believed instead to be simply insane, and had become, for lack of a better word, an outcast. Few if any would claim her and fewer yet would believe the words she spoke on the night of her death."

The Valkyn'Vi stares thoughtfully but offers no more.

There is a quiet but obvious knock on the gate. "May I... pay my respects to the Oracle?" comes the soft voice to those at the fire-pit.

Ingram unbolts and swings open the heavy gate.

"You are always welcome within these walls." he steps aside so Eilonwy can enter, then shuts the gate and secures the bolt before returning to the readied pyre.

"We don't know her name, her family, or even the prophecy of her birth. This is a sad day. An Oracle gone, with no name. We will need to live her death vision, so her death will not be in vane. "

Abaddon walks over to the body and touches a lock of her hair with his ungloved, pale hand.

Abaddon carefully takes the Oracles pendant and hands it to Tellinium. It is black with blood, bent and the polish is faded.

"I think she would want you to hold this To bring you the visions you are going to need"

As the dusk approches, the painted woman momentarily disappears into the parlor, she returns, a tourch with flames dancing about in hand. She silently walks to Abaddon, and extends the tourch to him.

Abaddon takes the torch and holds it aloft. It flickers in the wind but does not falter.

He lights the pyre. The frame, made from the broken swords that the oracle killed herself upon, holds the wood. The flames as they lick up the sides start slowly, crawling over her body like a protective blanket.

"One More Oracle gone. One more tie to the Future lost. But she will return to Mistriallia, and beat us there. Her last prophecy will come to fruition in Telliunum. At least we were here to learn it.

She sees the future lost
The past, the present fade into darkness.
Changing winds, minds asunder
give way.

Abaddon says, in Valkyn'vi, as the fires begin to crackle and climb.

The dark-tailed woman sometimes known as Ashune watches respectfully from a few metres behind the Valkyn'vi. Today her face is painted with wide black V's that trail down from her forehead to her and chin. Gently, she touches her own forehead and then draws a half-circle in the air as she then uses the fingers to touch her own chest.

The youth is silent, flames of the pyre reflected in wide eyes and Abaddon's words reaching the pale ears on the heated wind.

As the flames take the body, Ingram turns silently and leaves the fire, entering the house of chance.

"Where did she go?" The black-tailed woman speaks to no one in particular, quietly, the flames reflected in her distant eyes. "Where do we go, when we are not here?"

Voice faint, "Sometimes a storm takes us..."

The youth stays until the flames die and then walks to the keep's gate and outside.